Sanctuary
by TheChemistJorax
Summary: Shepard had stolen into her room uninvited, and yet Liara knew that she herself was the intruder. Oneshot.


A/N: If you're against implied gay stuff shoo shoo.

* * *

"Shepard, are you okay?"

A bitter laugh echoed throughout the darkened room. Apparently, that was to be Liara's only answer. She stood in the silence that followed, unsure of how to act, of what to say. What _did_ one say in a situation such as this?

Shepard had found the words after she had lost her mother all those years ago, but that hadn't really been the same, had it? She had loved her mother, yes, deeply and fiercely. And yet, by that time they had grown apart, separating themselves with differing morals and conflicting ideals.

This was different. This was more excruciating, more raw. She didn't envy the pain Shepard was going through, that was for sure.

"Am I in your way?" The voice was rough, harsh and thick with heartache. She was struck with the thought that this was the first time in the history of their friendship that she had witnessed Shepard in such a state. How strange it was to watch the universe's anchor weep.

"Of course not," she replied softly. It was the only thing she could say, and though she had entered her cabin with the intention of sleep, she moved to her terminals and set about work. There was always something to be done these days and her exhaustion could wait, if only for Shepard's sake.

For an hour and a half there was silence. The only light in the room was the blue hue emitting from the screens she diligently worked from, making it impossible for her to see any bit of Shepard save for a faint outline. She was a ball curled up in the center of the large mattress, and not for the first time since she had been aboard, Liara felt guilty for her residency here.

She knew her presence had made it impossible for Shepard to obtain the comfort she was seeking. The furniture had changed. The lighting was all wrong. There was a different energy in the air, a different ambiance. The scent she must be craving no longer lingered.

It wasn't really her fault of course, circumstances being what they were, but that fact hardly eased the asari's conscious. Shepard had stolen into her room uninvited, and yet Liara knew that she herself was the intruder. The thought made her heart ache.

"I was trying to be tough." Shepard's watery voice cut through the silence like a knife, jarring even in its unusual frailty.

Liara let her fingers slide off of the keypad of her terminal, tilting her head imperceptibly to the left to try and take in as much of the woman as she could through the dark.

"I was so _sick_ and _tired_ of people walking all over me this entire goddamn war and I," her voice broke, and for a moment it seemed unfeasible for Shepard to continue. Her words were an impossible blend of bitterness and loss and loathing and despair that Liara knew would cripple a lesser woman.

"And I took it out on her," Shepard finally admitted.

Liara had no way of knowing what that meant. The only thing she was certain of was what Shepard was doing to herself now. After all, she had done the very same to herself many times. After Benezia's death, after Shepard's, after they had lost Thessia. She couldn't allow Shepard to do that same, not when so much was riding on her.

"Don't do this," she pleaded.

As though she hadn't heard the appeal, Shepard continued. In the dark, Liara made out the outline of her friend's hands rising to run through her hair, fingers curling around the roots and tugging harshly.

"I fucking told her she was using me," she spat out venomously. And though Liara knew every ounce of anger Shepard was releasing was directed at her own person, she couldn't stop herself from taking a step back at the sheer intensity of it. There was a shaky exhale, and a choked sob. "I said that if she didn't want to tell me the truth, then obviously she didn't trust me, so why should I trust her?"

The hands fell back down to the mattress with synchronized thuds, and there were a half dozen gasping breaths before an audible swallow thick with emotion. "That's the last thing I said to her that day, 'why should I trust you?'." And suddenly Shepard's form curled in upon itself. The ball it formed tightening impossibly as arms wrapped around bent legs and head met knees.

"FUCK," she screeched into her skin.

"Shepard," Liara sighed out, failing to disguise her own distress. "Please," she begged quietly, risking a few measured steps forward. The desire to touch Shepard, to hold her, was unbearable. It wouldn't be right though, to sit there on that bed and offer such comfort.

"I killed her."

And suddenly it didn't matter what was right and what was wrong, and Liara was upon the mattress, arms wrapped firmly around her longtime savior. "No you didn't."

Shepard trembled violently in her grasp. "I could have helped her," she sobbed out into Liara's chest. "I could have given her the access. I should have said something about Leng."

Liara tightened her grip. "That's ridiculous," she soothed. "Leng ambushed her. Knowing his name wouldn't have offered any protection."

"Maybe she knew him though," Shepard protested weakly. Her arms were wrapped around Liara's waist now, fingers digging into the delicate blue skin. "Maybe she could have prepared."

"Shepard," her friend whispered softly into her hair, "you'll drive yourself _mad _with maybes. Miranda wouldn't have wanted that."

"No." And then Shepard was gone. Her hair, her fingers, her arms. She pulled back, pulled _away_, folding in upon herself once more, and shrinking back into solitude. "She just wanted one favor from me, and I let her down."

The next morning Shepard would be back in action. She would be strong and hardened, standing out beside Joker as she ordered him to direct the Normandy at whatever threat the Reapers threw at them next. She would be unflinching, unyielding. Every enemy would be wiped out. Every obstacle would be beaten down. And no one in the entirety of the universe would ever know she had cried.

Liara knew Shepard would only allow herself this one night, this one moment, of weakness. And so she curled up beside her, offering neither comfort nor advice, bitterly remembering how much she had resented the woman she had once harbored such ill will for. How much she had wanted to be in that bed, in that room, lying side by side with Shepard.

Now, as she did just that, the only wish she had was that Miranda Lawson could take her place.


End file.
